Chapter 4

Early 99 AC, Storm's End

Aegon stood still as his long hair that now touched his shoulders was moved behind his ears before the coif was placed on his head.

It was odd, he mused, how used one could get to being dressed by other people. 

It wasn't comfortable, not in the least as he glanced at the young squire who walked off to get the greaves and the cuisses that hung off the pole. At least Eldric knew how to tie knots properly by nature of his heritage as a Sunglass who were a House somewhat versed with ships and seafaring from an early age.

Eldric Sunglass was a squire of the heir of Claw Isle, the two and twenty Bartimos Celtigar whom Aegon befriended in his time on Dragonstone, and the young squire had volunteered to help Aegon after the boy and Bartimos joined the progression through the Riverlands after the tour through the Reach and Casterly Rock was done.

"My Prince" the young squire who was one and ten namedays old said as he returned and kneeled down to Aegon's feet "If you win this, you'll be the first squire since Harlon Tarly three hundred years ago to win three melees in a row" the squire said with a hint of awe in his voice.

"You will have to be knighted then!" Eldric finished as greaves were both put on and the upper leg harness strapped and connected to the lower leg harness before Eldric tied the knot that kept the cuisse attached to his leg.

"I first have to win, Eldric." Aegon said as he tested the leg harnesses and checked the knots whilst Eldric wrapped the maille skirt around his midrift.

"Which is not an easy feat" Aegon reminded the boy who for in all appearances was only a few years younger than he. "The Stormlanders are a martial kingdom, famous for their strength and combat." Aegon said to the boy as he lifted his arms for the breast plate to go on.

The back of the breast plate was shaped like his back, naturally, it was more pronounced with the way the areas that went over his shoulder blades were raised with a valley in the middle of the two raised edges. Swords would slide over the back of his breastplate and protect his spine, something that he was conscious of in this world. 

Should he lose all mobility, his life would turn nasty rather quickly.

It had ribs, like his cuisses and greaves, that would make it harder for swords to get caught against areas that needed protection.

"The heirs of House Dondarrion and Toyne are said to be on the cusps of being knights and are said to have done well in the few skirmishes they've been in with the Dornish in the Marshlands whilst House Connington is represented well by Roymont Connington." Aegon finished and he left out deliberately the one that would likely be the young man he would need to defeat to win the melee.

"You'll beat them, my Prince." Edric insisted as he tightened the strings of his breastplate and the plackart that protected his lower torso. "Even Borros Baratheon" Eldric said with a determined tone.

Aegon glanced at the boy with a hint of amusement in his eyes "Mayhaps you have more riding on my victory?" Aegon asked and the boy flushed a little guiltily before he smiled sheepishly.

"Aye my Prince, I have three gold dragons on your victory." The boy frowned as he paused.

"What is it?" Aegon asked curiously as he tested the breastplate before Eldric shook himself and began to place the pauldron, plates that protected his shoulders and provided cover for parts of the chest and back, on his right shoulder.

"The odds were very good, ten to one. They were three to one at Riverrun." Eldric said a little hesitantly, clearly worried and awkward at what people thought his chances were in the competition.

"I take it Baratheon is the one they favour?" Aegon asked knowingly.

Eldric gave a short nod before he refocused on placing the pauldron on the other shoulder.

In truth, Aegon did not blame them. When the progression arrived at Storm's End, he'd met and spoken somewhat with the four and ten namedays old boy…well it wasn't quite right to say 'boy', not when he was nearly a man grown at six feet one having muscle mass that weight lifters back home would be envious of.

Borros was like his father in appearance, thick black wavy hair with the beginnings of a beard springing on his face but that was where the similarities ended. Borros had a fierceness about him that Aegon could easily see develop into what he knew Baratheons of the future were meant to be known for…fierce and temperamental lords that were equally fierce in battle.

And he could easily see the teenager grow to be six five and Aegon knew that if Borros did the same kind of exercises Aegon did to grow his muscle mass and dexterity, he'd never win in a strength competition…and perhaps even in a fight.

He was lucky his sister in his old life was a track and field athlete in her youth and later became a sports scientist that worked for some sports consultancy firm in the States. He wished he listened more when she rambled on about the kind of exercises and routines that 'maximised explosiveness and power' during Christmas…

He banished the thoughts and the longing of home away.

In any case, Borros being a favourite did not surprise him. 

Aegon's own build was wide now and he'd worked hard in improving it though he focused more on speed, stamina and explosiveness than pure strength and size, not when he knew that such a thing was not maintainable.

Both Baelon and Aemon had been strong true and Aemon had been tall, six feet three, but neither had been particularly notably strong and it looked like he would be somewhat of the same.

He often wondered if genetics worked differently in Westeros…in this world. 

It probably did.

It seemed like somehow certain traits were maintained no matter how many centuries or dilution happened. Given that the Baratheons – which seemed to fuse traits of the old Durrandons into themselves – and the Lannisters certainly didn't practice constant familial marriages, you would think that they would not maintain the traits their families were known for.

Perhaps it was just simply magic, Aegon wondered bemused to himself. 

It was as good as an explanation as any, really. 

"At least once I do win, I will have won not being the favourite." Aegon said finally as the vambraces placed on his lower arms were being tightened. He had been the favourite ever since his victory at High Garden, a turning point in many ways, including his vastly improved reputation, he thought wryly to himself.

It seemed that some had thought him a weakling, a Aenys reborn so to speak. 

No surprises where those rumours had come from. A glimmer of darkness entered his eyes. Oh Daemon…you really are irredeemable, aren't you?

It hadn't bothered Aegon, not when such a thing was easily disproven but it just proved that Daemon was as reckless as he was intent on carrying grudges and slights borne out of nothing to the nth degree, a trait that Aegon knew was to be troubling.

He would do what he wanted, he would say anything he wanted, all without considering consequence and tact. Even now, even with Jaehaerys and Baelon still alive, tales of the Rogue Prince were beginning. Nothing extreme, not yet, most of it Daemon pushing the boundaries of what may be permissible and excused for liked and charming Princes but it was not looking good.

And that was not the worst of it all…

The absolute thunder**** was on Dragonstone after having spectacularly fallen out with Rhea, traipsing around as if it was his island…

The thought of Daemon interfering what he was doing there enraged him. Thus far, he did nothing to interfere with the sailors and the improved port that had been built in the past year. But Aegon knew it was only a matter of time…especially now that Daemon had bonded with Aemon's dragon…

Aegon met the gaze of Eldric, the angry glint remaining in his eyes briefly before he stamped down on it "You better get me a keg of ale when I win." Aegon said with a slow smirk as his eyes cooled to hard gemstones as he pushed those dark thoughts to the back of his mind and refocusing on the melee to come.

In any case, if he did win, he would deserve that keg of ale. 

It will at least numb the pain, he thought to himself with an internal grimace. 

After he'd won the melees at High Garden and Riverrun and came third at Casterly Rock, he'd been black and blue afterwards for days at the least and once he was fairly certain he suffered a small hairline fracture on his right upper arm.

At least it had felt like it at the time.

Even with blunted swords, injuries were easy to obtain in melees and fortunately he'd been lucky to avoid any serious injuries but blunted sword strikes left a damn big mark, on both the armour and the body.

Before Eldric could say anything, the flaps of the tent rippled and he turned his attentions to the newcomers. Viserys, dressed in his low attention royal attires walked in front of the Kingsguards Ser Lorence Roxton and Ser Crabb who Aegon was still squiring for though it was less and less these days.

Eldric bowed when he realised who had come in and the two Kingsguard bowed their heads shortly to Aegon.

"Aegon!" Viserys said happily as he crossed the distance and Viserys took hold of him by his shoulders, his armour clinking as it did so "You're wearing the new armour?" Viserys questioned as he looked Aegon over.

"Aye." Aegon confirmed. He'd commissioned new armour after the melee at High Garden but it wasn't until after the melee at Riverrun that he was happy with it.

He wanted more mobility whilst sacrificing just a little bit of protection. He sent for one of the blacksmiths of Dragonstone he knew and had spoken to and worked with him to create exactly what he wanted. It was a little unfortunate that it was going to be this melee that he'd be trying it out properly for the first time.

"It looks good." Viserys said with an approving tone in his voice before he eyed Aegon curiously "Not quite Targaryen colours however." He said, question in his voice before he looked at his armour again "Mīsaragorn's colours?" 

His armour was in crimson and deep blue colours, in a tartan pattern with yellow stripes. It was a remarkable coincidence that Mīsaragorn's colours coincided with the colours of House Stuart…somewhat, and he wanted a little bit of connection to back home…and what better than a tartan…even though he wasn't…hadn't been Scottish…and only half English…still…he would take what he could get.

"Yes. I'm not the Crown Prince or the heir of the Crown Prince." Aegon said to his brother "I did not think it appropriate to wear Targaryen colours lest they get the wrong understanding." Aegon said and his eyes flittered to Ser Crabb who stared at him with an expressionless look.

Ser Crabb probably knew that it wasn't quite the truth. 

"Ah, Aegon!" Viserys said disappointedly "You're a son of House Targaryen, it is your colours! No one would think of such things." He said as he shook his head. "No matter" Viserys said with a sigh before he smiled "It at least looks good on you."

Aegon smiled at his brother. "Thank you brother." He said and he meant it.

This progression had done wonders in deepening the relationship he had with his brother. Viserys was anything but earnest and one hardly could keep a distance when Viserys was as dead set being on the contrary.

Viserys...truly was a good man and Aegon came to view him a brother…and friend.

And it had made him feel guilty even more, especially now that he knew that his daughter was the Rhaenyra and that Daemon was the Rogue Prince she would marry and be party to the event that led to the death of dragons after the Dance.

How he could leave Viserys to this fate? 

To Aemma who he'd grown to like and Rhaenyra who he was getting to see grow and had grown fond of?

As time went by, it was becoming harder to not consider them as…

He shook his head. 

He hated that Jaehaerys' manipulations had worked but honestly, he kind of admired it in a grudging angry 'fair fucking play' kind of way. Viserys never was one to keep a secret, not from those he loved and Aegon had pretty much learned, perhaps not in so many words though it was enough, that Viserys was to form a bond with Aegon. 

Sneaky bastards. 

It worked.

He sighed internally. 

In truth, he didn't mind and honestly it had been a losing battle anyway given Viserys' nature and what he knew was in store for his family if Aegon left things…

Anyway…

Viserys probably didn't even think too much of it about what they really intended.

He could always come back after his adventures and perhaps…maybe…help stave off of this cataclysm that he only vaguely knew about. 

Fuck. 

Why couldn't Viserys have been another Daemon? 

At least it solved his long term situation, he mused to himself tiredly. 

After all, he wouldn't live at sea all his life and he didn't want to take root in Essos, the slaving shithole that it was, even if some places intrigued him…

Like Volantis or Mantarys – though that was more of a morbid curiosity – or Selhorys, Valysar, Volon Therys or any of the other smaller but mostly Valyrian towns and villages that lay on the rivers Rhoyne or Volaena or on the outskirts of Greater Volantis and at the edges of the Dothraki Sea.

He wanted to know more about his new Valyrian heritage…and know what really remained behind after the Doom.

In truth, Volantis intrigued him the most, how could it not as the First Daughter of Valyria, especially when the Old Blood were said to be descendant from nobility of Old Valyria…

Though it was clear that whatever 'Old Blood' of Valyria remained was from those descendants from garrisons or unimportant landowners instead of descendants of Dragonlords.

They might actually be of noble heritage, after all, the Freehold was more than just dragonlords and just like in Volantis, landowners could vote so these Volantenes may likely be descendants of these people and Valyrian soldiers but that was not what interested him about Volantis…no…what interested him was history.

He wanted to know more about Valyria, about what the Volantenes might have preserved. He hoped to find a Library of Alexandria, even if it was lacking in magic.

Whatever remained on Dragonstone could not be everything.

Yet for all of his boundless curiosity about what they might have preserved, he hated what Volantis was…the fact that it was one of the worst slaving cities only behind the cities of Slaver's Bay really soured him from satiating his curiosity.

Viserys slapped him on the shoulder bringing him back to the present "Well, I've got to get back, Lord Baratheon surely has talked Aemma's ear off by now" Viserys said with a laugh and left after a quick goodbye with Roxton in tow.

Aegon looked at the retreating form of Viserys before his eyes snapped to Ser Crabb before he looked at the squire was who was polishing Aegon's spare breastplate.

"Eldric" Aegon called out and the squire looked at him "Give us a few minutes." Aegon said and Eldric bowed his head before he left, leaving him and Ser Crabb behind.

"My Prince." Ser Crabb said when they were left alone.

"Ser Crabb" Aegon acknowledged as he looked at his vambraces and tightened his fists. Looser than he wanted. Seemed like Eldric made a small error. "Help me with this" Aegon said as he extended out his arms "the new armour is a little wider than the old one."

Ser Crabb walked forward and removed his gloves and grabbed one of his arms "This is thin, thinner than usual" Ser Crabb commented as he tightened the strings on the vambrace.

"Yes but it'll hold even against a sharp edge."

"Not more than a few times and that is if it's a sliding cut." Ser Crabb said with a frown "I hope you don't intend to use this armour outside of melees, my Prince."

"It'll do better than you think" Aegon told Ser Crabb who raised an eyebrow.

"And you've been in battle enough to know this, my Prince?" Ser Crabb countered.

"No but we've also not seen it perform in battle either" Aegon returned "It'll do fine. Besides, it's not as if I'll depend on the vambraces to stop a blade." Besides, he intended to purchase the hides of lion-lizards from House Reed.

It was purported to be tough, not tough enough to stop the tip of a blade but tough enough to protect at least once from a sharp sword's swing. He was going to line the armour with the hide.

Aegon looked at Ser Crabb with a hint of amusement "It's not polite to argue with a Prince, Ser Crabb"

Ser Crabb looked at him with a deadpan look as he tightened the string on the other arm a little tighter in response to his comment and as Aegon winced a little as he glared lightly at the aging knight "You're still my squire, my Prince. I have some leeway." Ser Crabb said with a hint of amusement in his tone.

Aegon chuckled as Ser Crabb moved away and he clenched his fists before he twisted his arms slightly. It fitted well now.

"You should have worn your House's colours." Ser Crabb said with a serious frown.

Aegon's lips thinned, his head tilting slightly to the left "We've already had this argument, Ser Crabb." Aegon's expression shifted even further, his eyes boring into the old knight "The answers and my decision will remain the same."

"Even if it weakens your House, your brother?" Ser Crabb asked persistently though he spoke softer with concern, the man's eyes set intently on Aegon's own.

Aegon broke eye contact. Ser Crabb's words were an exaggeration, true but there were some truths to it…it would look odd to the other nobles. He'd gotten away with wearing little of House Targaryen's colours by having a plain armour but with this…

What could he say? That he had not completely accepted his new reality? 

That he felt like if he gave in he was giving up on his old life?

He knew it was irrational. 

Understandable irrationality.

He'd always dealt in logic, in numbers, in trends and in irregularities in his old life, in his career and he was self conscious enough to know that he was not fully acclimatised over what's happened to him – what is still happening to him.

But he'd accepted so much about his new life…so little remained of who he once was…even his old name was nothing but a fading irrelevant memory.

Was it truly so terrible that he craved to make something new to honour it all in some small and private way, something that didn't make him feel like he was forgetting his old life, forgetting the people and experiences that had shaped him even if he knew that he wasn't quite that same man anymore?

"It will not weaken Viserys…or House Targaryen." Aegon finally spoke up, his voice quiet but strong nonetheless and he set his gaze back onto Ser Crabb, determination setting in his eyes.

"And I will do nothing to that effect. That is my promise, Ser Crabb." Aegon told the old knight. That was true. He may not…feel Targaryen but he cared for Viserys, Aemma, Rhaenyra and Gael…even Baelon somewhat in a distant complicated way.

Ser Crabb said nothing but Aegon saw the acceptance in Ser Crabb's eyes.

"Watch out for Steffon Estermont" Ser Crabb said finally, changing the subject thankfully Aegon looked at him curiously. Ser Crabb bore a deadly serious expression "Borros Baratheon might be one to beat but Estermont is the better skilled one."

Aegon met Ser Crabb's gaze and nodded "I will Ser." He said with a short nod.

Ser Crabb looked him over one more time before he nodded and turned to leave. 

Before he left, grabbing the flaps of the tent, Ser Crabb looked over his shoulder "I believe in you, Prince Aegon. Show them why." Ser Crabb finished as he walked out of the tent, the flaps rustling quietly for a few seconds.

Despite himself, Aegon allowed himself to smile.

Ser Crabb was a hard taskmaster but Aegon had risen to it since the day he was squiring for the aged knight and they had fostered a strange mentorship that was borne out of respect for one another…one for his skill and stoicism and the other for his dedication and willingness to do all that was asked of him.

It was different than the warm relationship he had shared with Elysar, one borne out of mutual admiration of history and knowledge and debate and had grown into a pseudo grandfather-grandson relationship that neither acknowledged, even as Aegon had remained by the old man's side as he faded away into the abyss that Aegon had only briefly known.

Ser Crabb had none of that warmth but what he did have was plenty of things to teach and Aegon had absorbed it all.

In this world, martial ability was the difference between life and death…freedom and slavery. Even for a dragonrider, no matter what people may say.

He grabbed his arming sword and gave it a swing. 

He rolled his wrists, the blade spinning with the roll of his wrists with precision and preciseness and he raised his sword, the flat side of it facing him. He stared at his reflection, the slightly distorted reflection of his purple eyes and his face.

There was a sense of beautiful simplicity to it, he mused to himself. 

The idea that ones' fate rested in your own hands…that the difference between life and death rested only with you…that the only fate there was, was the fate you make for yourself. Aegon smiled at the thought, his eyes drifting away from the sword. 

It was a beautiful notion…

He wasn't sure how long he was in his thoughts and he looked back at his reflected and for a moment, he had startled still at the frozen expression of his face.

The smile that was reflected back to him in his sword was sadder, so much sadder that he thought he expressed and it looked like a grimace etched from pain, of pain. 

Aegon swallowed and looked away from the reflection, intent on not looking again.

He placed the arming sword back on the rack and picked up the blunted arming sword, twirling it before he extended it in a straight line. It was the same weight as his actual sword, mindfully attempting to regain focus.

He'd grown accustomed to arming swords instead of bastard swords or long swords and it was something unlikely to change, well, that is until his blacksmith perfected the crafting of Westerosi style Xiphos.

He lost reach with the arming sword – and it'd be the same with the Xiphos – but the way he could handle the sword like an extension of his arm more than made up for it. He walked towards the pole and picked up his domed shield and made his way out of the tent.

Aegon glanced at the guards by the tent who stood at attention before his gaze fell to his surroundings. There was a sea of tents, the vast majority of them belonging to Stormlander Houses but there were plenty belonging to Houses from other regions.

The tourney grounds were held not far from Storm's End, from certain points you could faintly see the castle on a clear day, in a relatively flat region flanked by Shipbreaker's Bay and the other a small outcrop of forest.

Followed by his guards, he made his way towards the nearest tents by him.

Shouts and revelry was heard from within the tent with the fox sigil and Aegon looked at one of the guards that stood post "Are they all in there?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

"Yes my Prince." The guard said dutifully.

Aegon gave a short nod to the guard before he walked into the tent to sights of ale being drunk before it was even noon. Axell of them turned to him, his face morphing in a wide smile "Ah, Prince Aegon! Come join us!"

The rest of the lads turned around and raised their cups full of ale, cheering as they did so. Aegon looked at the scene with a touch of amusement and exasperation.

Most of the men and boys were aged roughly five years within one another and it made for an environment that was pretty much the medieval version of a frat house.

It was an odd bunch of lads, all hailing from different regions of Westeros and it started after he made friends with Garth Florent and his elder brother Axell, the heir of House Florent at the High Garden tourney where both he and the two brother had fought.

He'd defeated Garth and Axell had lost to Ormund Hightower who Aegon defeated at the end after a hard fought duel. 

Axell had lauded him for 'finally defeating the uppity prick' which amusedly led to the start of their friendship. Axell had earned his knighthood at seventeen like most of the others here or thereabouts that age so there was only Garth, himself and a few others like Lionel Plumm and Humphrey Lefford left to earn their spurs before they were knighted. 

Though it would only be Plumm, Lefford, Garth and Aegon himself that were fighting in this melee.

He walked forward and snatched the cup from Eldric "You're too young to drink" Aegon said before he drank some of the ale which garnered loud cheers and when he had enough, he threw the cup onto one of the tables.

Most of the beer around Westeros was barely drinkable, tasting more like pisswater in truth and he'd never really been much of a wine drinker. Still, when needs must…

"My brother drank when he was my age" Eldric protested.

"Look how he turned out!" Axell said in a barking laugh 

"Oi!" Aegon heard behind him and he turned around and saw Bartimos laid out in the corner of the tent with a cloak over him which he pulled away, an indignant look on a face suffering from a hangover apparent.

It set off a chain of rapturous laughter and series of banter and Aegon smiled as he joined them in the banter.

Soon enough, the laughter and cheers and banter and drinking petered out, the rest of the time before the melee spent a little more serious as they got ready.

Before long, it was time.

The melees in Westeros tended to be mostly free-for-alls on foot instead of two teams fighting or fighting mounted, little more than organised chaos until there was only one left standing.

Whilst they would compete with one another, all four of them would watch out for one another if they were being ganged up upon which often happened in melees.

Once the herd thinned, anyone was fair game.

….

His breathing was calm, the sound of his breathing bouncing against the insides of his helmet with the consistency of a metronome all whilst he stared across the field in razor sharp focus with the hum of battle beating in his chest. 

There were over fifty others in the circular grounds, each of them spaced from each other, all ready to pummel and hack at each other.

This melee was definitely the largest he's been part of. 

A slow smile grew on his face as he gripped his sword tighter.

There was nothing like it.

"BEGIN!" Lord Baratheon boomed out from on top of the stands and Aegon turned towards his left where several of his opponents was running towards him.

Garth rushed forward and took one to battle whilst the other continued towards him unimpeded.

The swords clang as they met before they separated. 

They exchanged a few blows, the sounds of swords clashing and striking a dull noise as the crowd cheered and hollered and called out names to encourage, and Aegon stepped back from an upper swing of the sword and his feet slid slightly on the dusty ground as he set himself.

He parried the following strike before he used the momentum of the strike to move into another position and he swung low diagonally against the shield, catching the boy who bore colours of House Foote off balance with the forceful strike.

Aegon advanced forward, using the brief opening to strike and slash against the shield and he stepped back again before he struck at the squire's hand with a quick blow. The sword dropped and before Foote knew, Aegon's blade was on his shoulder.

"I yield" the squire's young voice said defeated and Aegon moved on.

Again and again Aegon battled one on one, slashing and hacking with the dull blade as he lost himself to the haze of battle with cold efficiency. The sounds of the crowd, the feel of the rush of battle, the stress and strain on his left arm burnt and made him feel alive as he brought down one, two, four with quick succession.

He glanced around the tourney field, his breathing slightly laboured, amidst the pained moans of the defeated Lonmouth squire before him who was getting back to his feet to leave. Others weren't so lucky as some were being hauled out by people. Aegon saw that there were only fourteen left standing, among them there was still Lefford and Garth who were both fighting with skilled squires.

The Estermont squire dispatched quickly his opponent before he turned to Aegon and raised his blunted long sword towards Aegon.

Aegon accepted as he raised his sword and shield, walking steadily towards Estermont.

"My Prince." Estermont said respectfully as he gripped his bastard sword with two hands and got to a stance.

"Estermont. May the best man win." Aegon said as he got into his stance. Neither of them moved for a good few seconds, eyes boring into one another.

Aegon's breathing slowed, his stamina getting back slowly and it was at that point Aegon moved. He rushed forward, his shield high as his sword came up in a downward arc. The swords clang as Estermont struck to meet his sword and Estermont pushed Aegon back before with a flash struck at him but Aegon moved his shield in the way.

Estermont's sword slid off of his shield and Aegon adjusted his feet to ram his shield into Estermont who stepped back. Aegon began a series of strikes and slashes, each of them flowing into a rhythm that one day would promise death and agony though this day it only prelude to defeat and pain, all of which Estermont managed to parry or deflect away though he was struggling.

Estermont was fast. 

Skilled too he thought as their swords clashed.

But Aegon did not relent. 

He pushed forward, his heart racing with adrenaline and excitement at facing someone who was as skilled as he was, perhaps even better but Aegon was faster, he thought as the distant beats of war struck in sync with the beats of his heart.

Aegon used his shield and sword in perfect sync, his blade swinging whilst his shield struck at Estermont or deflected Estermont's slash, and he was a whirlwind of fury and cold precision. Estermont was fighting more defensively, stepping back more and more, using the reach of his sword and stepped away from the range his shield.

Estermont's downward swing of his blade crashed into Aegon's shield and Aegon shifted his feet as he brought up his sword in an upward arc. Estermont parried and with a wide arc, the sword came down on Aegon and Aegon raised his sword.

The swords clashed and swords locked whilst Estermont held onto his shield arm at the wrist, their helmets mere inches away from the other "So it is true." Estermont said with exertion, both of them trying to out-strengthen the other "You are as good as they say" he said with grunt of acceptance. "You use that shield better than anyone I've seen."

"And you're not bad yourself." Aegon said with clenched teeth.

They pushed off each other, letting go, and they both got back into their stances. He took a moment to look around and saw the numbers had dropped to only four and returned his gaze back at Estermont who had also been looking.

"Looks like there's only a few of us left…I imagine by the time we're done, there'll only be maybe one or two left for one of us to fight." Estermont said through his helm.

"Aye" Aegon agreed. He dropped his shield, kicking it aside as he changed stance.

This time, Estermont moved first and again stepped back and to the left as he parried the blade, before stepping forward, the tip of his blade aimed at Estermont's neck.

Estermont moved his head to the side and smacked Aegon's blade upward before following with an angled blow downward aimed at Aegon's shoulder. Aegon leaned to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike before they entered into a rhythm of clashes.

Both of them moved and struck, the sounds of their clashes echoing around them and the noise of the crowd dulled to a soundless whisper. Aegon advanced and stalked and struck and he stepped back, he defended and he leaned away, seemingly endlessly as both of them were stuck in a duel that neither of them seemed to be able to win without the other making a mistake.

It sapped at Aegon, this duel, at his strength and at his concentration and he knew he had to end it quick if he wanted enough strength for one or two more battles.

Estermont struck at him and Aegon dangerously leaned to the side but forward, the blade going over his shoulder by less than an inch and he adjusted his feet as he placed both hands on his sword. He plunged his sword forward, deep and hard into Estermont's belly and it dented the plackart.

Estermont rasped out pained and Aegon with a furious swing of the sword brought down his sword onto Estermont but Estermont blocked, a tired block Aegon could tell and within a few exchanges, Aegon disarmed and aimed his blade towards Estermont's visor.

Aegon's breathing was hard and harsh, his chest rising and falling but his blade was steady, unmoving. Aegon took a look around Borros Baratheon beating down on Lefford. Aegon looked back at Estermont when Estermont brought his hands up and to his helm and took it off.

For the first time in some while, he began to hear the crowd again, cheering and some called out his name but he paid it little mind, his eyes boring down on Estermont.

Blue eyes stared at him from a face red from exertion. "I yield." Estermont said with a bow of the head before he looked up, a grim smile on his face "You fight well, my Prince."

Aegon kept the blade up for a few seconds before he brought it down and extended his right hand towards Estermont. "So do you. This was my longest duel since Lorent Marbrand and I lost to him." Estermont took his hand and pulled himself up.

"High praise." Estermont said with a laugh "I hear he's one of the best knights of the Westerlands now even though he was knighted under a year ago."

"Aye." Aegon said with a smile and Estermont bowed again before he left the grounds. Aegon refocused on Baratheon and Lefford.

Lefford was going to lose, there was no doubt in his mind as Baratheon swung his axe as if he was fresh. Lefford had lost his shield and each strike he met he was pushed back and back, and each time he met the strike, Aegon could see Lefford's arms weakening.

Soon enough, Baratheon disarmed Lefford painfully and had sent Lefford crashing into the ground and Aegon scowled slightly even as the crowd cheered loudly at the victory of their overlord. 

He could not interfere, it was bad practice to interrupt someone's battle, especially when it got to this stage where there were few remaining.

Baratheon turned away from Lefford and turned his gaze towards Aegon. Baratheon was in his Houses' colours, the distinctive yellow with the black stag on the fore.

He looked intimidating in truth, axe in hand and a sword in the other.

Aegon placed his helm back on and breathed out heavily before breathing in heavily, steeling himself as he controlled the rate of his heartbeat as much as he could.

The noise of the crowd had been loud but now it was little more than a hush as he picked his shield and clenched hard on the support straps as he adjusted his arm.

Aegon glanced at the main box in the stands for the first time. Lord Boremund was leaning forward whilst Viserys and Aemma were looking on with concern but with pride as well.

Aegon set his gaze back on Baratheon who was walking slowly towards him and Aegon clenched his sword and walked towards Baratheon as well.

They stopped once they were ten paces from each other.

"Prince Aegon." Borros said in his gravelly deep voice as he shifted slightly, his side that wielded the axe forward whilst the arm with the sword was drawn parallel to the ground.

"Baratheon." Aegon returned as he shifted his feet and angled his blade, his shield rising and the curvature of the top of his shield almost completely hid the bottom of his helm and most of his chest.

Neither of them said anything further and Aegon was more than fine with that.

Moments passed.

Aegon's breathing slowed as he exhaled softly, the warm breath and sweat coating the inside of his helm, the sounds of all there sunk away into nothingness like stones falling towards abyss of the ocean deep.

Until…

Until Baratheon moved with a deafening roar, a roar that seemed more beast than man, the axe swinging in a wide arc that whistled in the air almost sounding like the high pitched whistling of boiling water in a kettle such was the speed and strength.

Aegon's left foot slid back on the dusty ground, his shield rising like a lumbering gate intent to stop what he knew was akin to a battering ram and a loud clang reverberated in the tourney grounds, a clang that rattled his right arm and spun him, so much so that he was pushed back and his feet were in a tangle of a mess. 

He fought to regain balance all while grimacing in pain as his right him throbbed and ached. He was lucky that his arm was still in its socket.

The long sword came for his head and Aegon only just managed to meet it with his arming sword, the two swords sparking as they slid against each other despite being dull and as Aegon regained his balance and stance, they exchanged.

Ours was the fury indeed as Baratheon hacked and slashed, his great arms moving like turbine blades with relentlessness, without wavering but Aegon was not unknowing to fury and his anger and his rage rose to meet the Stag's fury.

The sounds of swords and axe and shield clashing and striking dominated the tourney ground but Aegon's anger and rage could not compensate for Baratheon's strength and soon enough Aegon could only parry and shield and lean away as Baratheon continued to press at him.

Aegon, in a moment of barest of reprieve, set his feet, his right foot angled slightly as he swung upward before he changed direction, ducking under the axe swing and twisted his sword and struck at Baratheon's sword arm, earning only an angry exertion before Baratheon stepped up his attacks.

Baratheon swung the blunted axe with power, the axe slipping from Baratheon's hand until he held at the very end much to Aegon's surprise and alarm at the sudden increase in reach. 

The axe-head whistling through the air as it moved towards his head and Aegon narrowly ducked beneath the swing amidst the sounds of panic of the crowd and they had a right to be. That swing would have killed him had it connected to his head.

Baratheon rushed forward and beat up on his shield and with each strike, Aegon felt his arm grow weaker and weaker until his shield cracked as one of the strikes hit the top of his shield.

Aegon leaned away, too much and too unstable and Baratheon caught him with the long sword on the breastplate and Aegon fell towards the ground.

He let go of the shield and managed to fall in such a way that he got back on his knees his sword up in time to block both axe and long sword with a clang as he held onto the blade itself with his right hand.

"That could have killed me" Aegon scowled through his helm, his arms struggling as he tried to push away against Baratheon's strength and Baratheon grunted in response. 

"It didn't" Baratheon said simply, lack of care in his voice and the casual nature of his response enraged Aegon and with an enraged roar, Aegon got back on his feet, pushing with all his might against Baratheon's.

They disembarked from each other but soon enough, they were hacking and slashing once more. They advanced, they raged and they got hits in, both of them growing worst for wear. Aegon wasn't finished, far from, his rage had burst and his strikes became faster, his movement more fluid as his footwork changed stances and positions again and again, his body moving this way or another as he meshed his swings and arcs with his leans and steps.

Aegon stepped forward, into Baratheon's guard and grabbed Baratheon's arm that held the long sword and he leaned into Baratheon, his right leg getting in between Baratheon's and he swivelled around, his back towards Baratheon and Baratheon's arm over Aegon's shoulder with Aegon's arm wrapped around Baratheon's arm.

Aegon leaned forward all while pulling down on Baratheon's arm and Baratheon roared out in pain as his arm was over-extending and in a fierce grip. Baratheon dropped the long sword and smacked the butt of the axe against Aegon's helm and an audible clang sounded out and it hurt and Aegon quickly let go before the next one came and he narrowed avoided the axe as he threw himself to the ground before he pushed himself up again, leaning to the side, though this time his feet surer, and sword smacked away the axe.

Baratheon's fury seemed to reach new heights, the man's stamina seemed endless as he swung forward but Baratheon leaned back, his right foot anchoring him as Aegon's blade and Baratheon's axe locked. Aegon was prepared, unwilling to fight a losing battle with Baratheon's monstrous strength and his blade turned parallel to the ground and with fleet feet, he pushed his blade along the shaft of the axe, the tip of the blade aiming towards Baratheon's neck.

The quick change surprised Baratheon but he was just about able to push away Aegon's blade and he grabbed hold of Aegon's wrist with his free hand. Aegon had knew he was in trouble if he didn't get out of this so with his right arm, he swung at Baratheon's elbow and Baratheon roared out in pain and he let go but Aegon was not done.

He got into Baratheon's guard and he rained down punch after punch against Baratheon's ribs on both sides. Baratheon roared as he headbutted Aegon and it stung Aegon though not enough to daze him and before Aegon fell, he grabbed hold of Baratheon's axe-arm and as he fell, using his momentum and feet, Aegon threw the large man-boy over, in turn forcing Baratheon to drop his sword.

They crashed into the beaten ground, Aegon managing to get on Baratheon, beating and punching with as much force as he could. Baratheon roared out angrily and like Goliath, he shrugged off Aegon like he was nothing and the tables turned, Baratheon's strikes feeling like more like lances than they did punches, such was the strength he bore. Aegon felt copper in his mouth and he knew he had to do something quick.

Aegon managed to push aside one of the punches and through the narrow gap between helm and breastplate Aegon struck at Baratheon's throat just hard enough that Baratheon faltered and Aegon leveraged just enough to get out of the dangerous situation though not without losing his helm.

They separated, both of them stumbling to their feet, Aegon more worn and damaged than Baratheon who looked like he could do this all day, both of them breathing hard and the noise of the crowd filled the grounds with ear shattering cheers.

"You done, Stag?" Aegon said as he smiled with bared teeth and he knew that it probably was a gruesome look giving that the taste of copper was strong on his tongue.

Baratheon threw off his helm as well, his great black mane more like frizzled hair and he bore bruises on his face though no blood was leaking "Far from it, little Dragon" Baratheon said with equally bared teeth and though there was anger in it, there was a hint of grudging something there as well, something that left quickly when Baratheon scowled at Aegon.

Aegon laughed and he grimaced at the pain but nonetheless he raised his hands. He didn't get this far just to lose…and though he may lose, he would do so when he had nothing left.

Both of them made to lunge but a voice stopped both of them.

"Stop!" he heard the familiar voice say and Aegon looked up and saw it was Viserys. Aegon wanted to groan. He didn't want it to end on a draw because of favouritism…and because he was so close to getting his three victories.

The crowd hushed and Viserys spoke again "Both of you have fought well." Viserys said before he continued "Better than anyone could have expected!" Viserys said to a roar of the crowd.

Viserys continued "Yet as much as I am loathed to end such a fantastic spectacle, I fear that neither of you are willing to yield until one of you can no longer speak and so I declare this bout a draw!" Viserys said to a chorus of boos. Aegon scowled and Baratheon looked seething as well.

 Viserys raised his hand and the crowd hushed once more.

"That said, let it be known that one day, Borros of House Baratheon and Aegon of House Targaryen, may continue their fight to determine the victor of the Dance between the Stag and the Dragon when both are knights and bloodied!" Viserys said loudly.

Aegon tuned out the rest of Viserys' speech until the crowd once more cheers. Suddenly, his knees felt a lot weaker and he decided it was probably best to take a quick nap as he fell backwards and with a thump and a smile on his face, he let the false abyss take him.